Pub
by TheLesserOfTwoWeevils
Summary: One night with Gene Hunt? Who hasn't thought about it? Alex Drake certainly has, and she has a pretty shrewd idea how it would play out...
1. Chapter 1

"Don't say you haven't thought about it," he commented, taking a swig of his drink.

Alex considered. "Well, I suppose so…" Unconsciously, she tilted her head back and slightly to one side, lips pursed and a faraway look in her eyes. He recognised the pose: it was the look she got when she was meditating on some problem, like some bloody psychic calling on answers from the beyond. "I mean, it would be a mistake, obviously. Spontaneous, most likely, and almost certainly fuelled by alcohol. I'd surmise... up against a wall, clothes mostly still on, a sort of 'end of the disco' type feel to it. More urgency than finesse, probably - hardly candlelight and wining and dining, no, more a sort of... venting of frustration if anything." She seemed to come to, smiling brightly with that head girlish air of having satisfactorily solved a slightly tricky puzzle and restored the world to rights.

"Bloody hell…" he said.

"What?"

"Well that's a pretty specific scenario you've got worked out there. Please do let me know if I've missed my cue - I'd hate to think you'd been waiting."

She rolled her eyes. "Oh, please… I'm simply articulating the most likely set of circumstances which would lead to the consummation of any kind of physical relationship. The actual possibility is still extraordinarily remote, but if it did happen then chances are it would unfold along those lines."

"Unfold? Where I come from it's usually more of an unzip but you always did know how to overcomplicate things."

"Well yes, I can see how it would seem that way if your usual benchmark for courtship is to club a girl over the head and drag her back to your cave…"

"Never had any complaints."

"Well... no - I imagine the poor women are too shell-shocked quite frankly."

"Quite right," he said decisively, taking another swig of beer and smacking his lips. "Keep it simple, Bolls: me man, you woman; I've got it, you want it; you can have it for twenty minutes and then I can be having a smoke while you sort the dishes and contemplate how very lucky you are."

Alex sighed. "It's a lovely picture." She raised her glass in a mock toast. "Still. Not without a lot of alcohol."

Gene nodded. "Another round?"


	2. Chapter 2

"Right," Gene announced after a few hours fruitless debate the next morning. "I've had enough of this."

He stood up. "Let's go and bag ourselves a bastard."

Alex rolled her eyes. "Guv, we can't just pick one at random: we don't have any evidence."

"Jimbo Mullins."

"There's _nothing_ to tie him to the scene of the crime," Alex said, exasperated. "We need more time."

"Time?" Gene snapped. "I hate to break it to you, D.I. Drake, but these are criminals. They aren't going to wait obligingly for you to get your hair fixed and your best knickers on: they're out there NOW and they're laughing at us."

"That's because we've got nothing!"

"Wrong!" He leaned forward, his face uncomfortably - and inappropriately - close to hers, "We've got this." He gestured at himself with a stabbing motion.

"Middle aged spread?" she guessed in a deliberately bored tone. "A God complex? Terrifyingly high cholesterol?"

"My GUT." He stabbed it again with one finger, which he then tapped against the side of Drake's forehead. "And if you could engage _this, _Mrs. Psychopathic Profiler, instead of arguing with me when you know I'm right, then we might actually be getting somewhere."

Alex opened her mouth, and then closed it again.

"Getting somewhere…" she repeated.

"Fan-bloody-tastic: you're listening at last. Yes, Drake: getting somewhere."

"No, I mean… _getting somewhere_. It was a pretty odd place for Mullins to just be passing by. It's nowhere near his work or his mum's house. _Where was he going?_"

"It's all allotments round that way," piped up Chris.

"Allotments…" Gene repeated. He looked at Alex.

"Somewhere you could visit every day with sacks - _wheelbarrows_ - full of drugs and no one would bat an eyelid…" she said, nodding.

There was a pause.

"Best get digging then, hadn't we?" said Chris.

You couldn't say they retained the element of surprise, thought Alex, as they screeched to a halt outside the allotments. Not only was subtlety a foreign concept; it was the sort of foreign concept they would reject as dangerous if it was listed on a menu in favour of sticking with chips and a big plate of ham-fistedness.  
"There he is!" yelled Ray as a startled-looking Mullins dropped the wheelbarrow he was trundling and made as if to run. "Stay where you are!"

The boy darted through a gap in the fence. Chris dashed forwards after him.

"Don't you worry, Christopher," said Gene, flinging out an arm to stop him. There was a strangled yelp from the other side of the fence. "I happen to know there's a very large hole on the other side of that fence."

They looked at him.

"It's Old Harry's," he said, as if this explained everything.

They all turned back to the narrow gap. Gene stepped forward.

"Guv!"

He looked round.

"You're not going to fit!" said Alex.

"You what?"

"A man of your girth is not going to get into a space that size."

"Spend a lot of time worrying about my girth do you? Don't worry, Drakey; I'll be gentle."

She raised an eyebrow.

"No, you won't."

Ray smirked.

"Not really, no," Gene agreed, picking up a spade and battering out the planks to the side of the gap. The fence swayed for a moment, and then the entire thing crashed flat out in front of them to reveal Jimbo Mullins sprawled on the ground clutching his ankle. Apparently he'd managed to roll out of the way. He gaped up at them, looking half resentful and half reluctantly impressed.

"Well it definitely lacked finesse…" Alex observed, grudgingly. "But I suppose it got the job done."

"That's what Mrs. Hunt used to say…" Ray sniggered.  
"Thank you, D.S. Carling..." warned Gene, swinging the spade up onto one shoulder.

Chris and Ray surged forwards and grabbed both Mullins' arms, yanking him to his feet and pinning him against the nearest fence which hadn't just been flattened. "Oi," he protested as his injured foot jarred against the ground. Ray cuffed him round the side of the head: "Shut it, you!"

"Talk about blunt instruments…" Alex muttered.

"We can talk about my instrument later, Bolls. Mustn't keep Mr. Mullins waiting, must we? He's got an appointment with a very nasty gardening accident if he doesn't start talking…"

Gene advanced on the cowering figure, spade held purposely in both hands now. The boy eyed it warily.

"Now then, sunshine," said Gene. "I'm willing to bet that when we get back to that wheelbarrow we aren't going to find it full of anything you'd want to waste on your roses. So before you very unfortunately chop off your own toes with a spade while trying to dig a flower-bed, why don't you tell me where I can find the brains of your operation?"


	3. Chapter 3

Jimbo Mullins had decided fairly quickly to reject D.C.I. Hunt's kind offer of slicing off his whole foot if it was hurting him and had opted instead to give them the name of his boss. It wasn't one Alex recognised, but Gene and Ray had both sucked air in through their teeth and Chris had muttered, 'Bloody hell…"

"Warren Driscoll," Gene repeated, adding, in response to Alex's interrogative expression, "Not a nice man, Drake." He swiped at a garden gnome with the spade. "Not a nice man at all."

As expected, the wheelbarrow had contained a couple of kilos of heroin hidden inside empty sacks and Mullins' shed, which boasted an array of locks which would have been impressive even by the standards of a proud gardener afraid of having his best tools stolen, had turned out to be full of wooden crates of cash. Ray whistled.

"Waste of good soil," observed Chris, looking down at the untended seedbeds. "I reckon he could've grown some nice stuff here if he'd been trying."

"I think he was a bit busy, mate," said Ray, patiently.

"Right," said Gene. "Warren Driscoll…"

He wasn't in. Not only that, but after Gene, Chris and Ray smashed their way into his office only to find it empty it seemed highly unlikely he would be caught there any time soon.

"You just went steaming in like a bull in a china shop," Alex snapped, exasperated.

"Well someone needed to. This isn't the Dance of the Sugar Plum Fairies, Bolly: there are greasy scum bastards out there."

"There is a time and a place for bullish!"

"Fair enough. Yours or mine?"

Alex threw up her hands. "You know, there's no talking to you sometimes."

"If only that were true - I can't seem to get you to shut up."

"A bull in a _bloody_ china shop..." she raged, almost incoherent with frustration.

He stuck his thumbs in his belt loops. "Bloody hell woman, you're fixated but the answer is yes: a bull between the sheets and all."

"Oh, of course. And a donkey between the legs, naturally..." Alex, said, flinging up her arms in despair and knowing her mother would have been appalled to hear her.

Even Gene seemed slightly taken aback. "Steady on Bolly…"

Then he apparently thought better of it: "Still, if that's what you want, let's get the whole farmyard involved - I always knew you were a filthy mare."

The absurdity of the conversation almost made Alex laugh out loud, but then she remembered they were still at a dead end. She took a deep, steadying breath. "I haven't got time for this."

"No, you're right: you're not getting any younger and there are still drug-dealing rats infesting my streets. First things first, eh Bolls?"

"Exactly."

They headed for the car, Alex muttering: "Catch the dealers, then Hell freezes over and you and I go to bed together. Busy day..."


	4. Chapter 4

"And the Americans think they invented the doctrine of Shock and Awe…" Alex murmured as Ray, Chris and Gene slammed back into the police station each dragging a member of Driscoll's gang behind them. Gene hauled Driscoll himself through the door of the interview room.

"I like that," he commented.

"Course you do…" Alex sighed, closing the door behind them and taking a seat.

"All right. I'll do the shock." Gene kneed the suspect in the bollocks.

"_Awwww…" _

Alex rolled her eyes.

"It's also called 'Rapid Dominance'," she informed him caustically as he loomed over the writhing figure at his feet. "And I'll agree you've achieved it. But it doesn't seem to have been all that successful in getting anything much out of him except expletives."

"Well, give the poor sod a minute, Bolls…" said Gene, fairly.

He leaned down. "Very impatient, my DI."

He grabbed Driscoll by the collar and heaved him onto a chair.

"Mind you, you can see why…" he continued, conversationally. "It can get a bit frustrating being lied to all the time by sleazy scum like yourself."

"We're getting nowhere," said Alex, back in the office, a few hours later. "He's not going to talk."

"You talk then, Drake," said Gene, irritably. "Tell me something useful."

Alex thought. "Well… he's a sociopath. He has no sense of moral responsibility or social conscience. But he has a compelling, magnetic personality which draws others to him. He attracts people. He… redraws the rules. They stop seeing anything beyond him…right and wrong are whatever he says. He redefines normality for them. "

She looked up at Gene. "He's so, so dangerous. He only has to suggest something and people want to do it just to please him. He's… mesmerising. Charming…" her eyes narrowed. "Exactly the sort of man a child would take sweets from because he seemed so nice they'd forget everything they'd ever learned about strangers."

Their eyes met.

"He's using the local kids," said Alex. "They think they're just running errands for him - well, they are, they just have no idea of the significance of those deliveries. And all he has to do is say it's _their little secret_, and none of them would ever dream of saying a word..."

Gene's face was stony.

"Not any more," he said, grimly. "Not on my watch."


	5. Chapter 5

"There's something bigger here," said Alex. "Something we can't see yet."  
"Oh good!" Gene replied, "And here I was thinking we had enough on our plates already."  
"What are we missing?" she mused.

"Well…" said Ray. "I'd say we might be missing some of the heroin."

They turned to look at him.

He raised his hands.

"I'm not sure, mind, but that shed was all arranged very careful, like. Cash piled neatly in crates; drugs stacked alongside. It looked to me like there was some sort of system - you, know: drugs out, cash in, to keep track of the stock alongside the takings." He looked uncomfortable, as though not quite convinced of his own argument.

"Spit it out, Ray…" Gene demanded.

Ray shuffled his feet. "If you count the stuff that was in the wheelbarrow, there were still some gaps."

Gene scowled. "Someone's been helping themselves… Either that, or Driscoll's been sampling his own wares."

"He wouldn't do that," said Alex, shaking her head. "He's too much of a control freak. The drugs are a tool, not a temptation. He might give them away, if he had a reason to think it would pay him back in something other than cash, but if one of his crew's been ripping him off then I wouldn't give much for their chances once he found out."

She stood up.

"I'd better go and talk to him."

Gene made to follow her, but she held up a hand to stop him.

"Alone." He seemed about to protest.

"You kneed him in the bollocks," she pointed out. "People tend to take that quite personally…"

He looked surprised. "For once, Bolls, you may be right…"

Driscoll did not look up when she entered, but waited for her to take the seat opposite him without any sign of surprise or interest. It was like being watched by a crocodile, Alex thought, staring coolly back into those cold, unreadable eyes. The ghost of a smile crept slowly across his face as he took her in. It was not a predatory grin. It was expectant, as though she was already poised on the edge of his trap and he had every confidence she would walk into it of her own accord.

How many people had he played this game with? she wondered. Allowing the pull of his own will to power to draw them to him; letting them think they could get up and leave at any time while all the while they were entangling themselves deeper and deeper in his web. How many children's lives had he already ruined?

_Oh Molly… _she thought._ Wherever you are, I hope you're as far away as possible from men like this. I wish I could be there to make sure._

It was almost as though he had read the thought in her face. He sat up a little straighter, like an animal scenting blood, and his eyes sparked with interest for the first time.

"You wanted to talk to me?" he said, softly.

"I wanted to know who's been stealing from you," she said.

"Stealing from me?" he echoed. "No one steals from me, D.I. Drake."

"I'm sure you'd like to think that," she replied. "But it looks to us very much like there are things missing from your shed. Had you noticed that?"

He knew what she meant; she could tell that at once. The changes in his expression were so small they were almost imperceptible, but there was a complacency to his silence which convinced her she had told him nothing he didn't already know.

"I wonder what you'd do to someone who took from you, Warren…" she said, softly.

He continued to watch her, a half-smirk lifting the corner of his lips but leaving his eyes hard and unamused. She waited.

"No one _takes_ from me…" he said. "That's not how it works. They _want_ something from me, then they give me something. And I might feel inclined to give them something in return. That's just the way it is."

"And what do _you_ want, Warren?" Alex asked.

He leaned forwards. "Why don't we talk about what _you_ want, Alex?"

Had she told him her first name? She didn't think so. He was still leaning towards her, his gaze intense and hungry. She resisted the urge to move back.

"You don't get anything for nothing in this world, Alex Drake," he said, silkily.

She was holding her breath.

"All these lost souls…" he continued. "They need me…" he said, softly. "They'd be so much more lost without me."

She felt her flesh tingle in revulsion but she didn't drop his gaze. "And you find them?" she said, as crisply as she could. "And you sell them drugs that will ruin their lives and eventually kill them."

Driscoll smiled again. It was not a pleasant sight. He leaned back in his chair with the satisfied air of a man who felt completely in control. "I'm just helping them along, D.I. Drake…" he said. "Just helping them along…"

Alex turned on her heel and marched out of the room, lip curled in disgust. Once the door slammed behind her, she leaned forwards against the wall and tried to draw as much clean air as possible into lungs which felt choked with bile. The man was poison. Worse, even without the heroin, he was a seductive, addictive drug in himself - in spite of the fact that he repelled her, she could still feel him trying to reel her in.

"Don't let him get inside your head, Drake," said a familiar, unsympathetic voice behind her. She turned.

"It's enough of a bloody mess in there already," Gene finished.

Alex gave a shaky laugh. He eyed her, narrowly.

"Come on," she said. "We'd better find Chris and Ray."


	6. Chapter 6

"Did you get anything out of him, Boss?" Chris asked, hopefully.

"Nothing concrete," she confessed. "He has… grandiose delusions. He doesn't see himself as just a drug pusher, he thinks he's leading them towards their predestined future; guiding them towards their end."

"He wants them to die?"

"I think so, yes."

Gene looked unconvinced. "Dealers aren't very nice people as a rule, Bolls. But they tend not to want to kill off their clientele." He screwed up his face as though confronted with a bad smell. "Bad for business."

"I know, but he's no ordinary dealer. He certainly wouldn't think of himself as one, anyway. I think he sees himself as a… a sort of psychopomp."

"You what?" demanded Ray.

"He's into blokes," Chris explained.

"No, no: a _psychopomp_. It's Greek. It means, 'Guide of Souls'," Alex corrected.

"That's never a real word," Ray shook his head, disbelieving.

"Actually, Ray, most religions have some spirit or deity whose role is to conduct souls to the afterlife," said Shaz, depositing the tea tray in front of him.

"Thank you as always for your insight, WPC Granger," Gene said, dampingly. "Now could you concentrate on conducting some Garibaldis in my direction?"

Alex wasn't to be diverted. "The drugs aren't just a source of money and power in the usual sense," she insisted. "For him, the lure is the power it gives him over other people. The addicts… they _need_ him. And he needs them - not just in an economic sense. He doesn't just want their money. He wants their _souls_. He wants to lead them to death on his terms."

"Yes all right Lady Loony," Gene interrupted, unimpressed. "Never mind what ego trip he's on or what elaborate fantasy he's dragging you into: back in the real world, he's still a drug dealer. How does your little fairy story help us nail him?"

Alex stopped pacing. "I don't know yet," she admitted. "But I do know that it must be eating away at him being in here. He needs to be in control. He needs to be altering the world around him to his will; writing his own story - his own myth..."

"So, basically: he probably doesn't like being in prison. Well that's an immense relief. Again, nothing that even Shaz here couldn't have worked out, and without resorting to ancient Greek, but good to know that the Great British penal system has now had the Alex Drake seal of over-educated approval and we can all carry on about our business. Now, if it's alright with you, I'll get back to looking for some evidence that will keep our resident scumbag safely inside before some lefty brief mate of yours minces in and decides we're infringing his right to watch kids kill themselves for his entertainment, OK?"

Alex folded her arms. She was slightly deflated, but still defiant.

"Ray, Chris," Gene barked. They straightened up. "Get out there and see if you can track down any of these kids Driscoll's been using. Take Shaz with you." Her face brightened, though she tried to hide her smile. "And softly softly, do you understand? Ps and Qs and no sudden movements." He paused. "You might want to let her do the talking."

They left. Brow furrowed and lost in thought, Alex started when Gene snapped his fingers in front of her face.

"Giving you ideas?" he said, gesturing at the wall she'd been staring through. She realised what he meant, and rolled her eyes. "Mind on the job, Drakey," he continued. "Disco's not over yet..."


	7. Chapter 7

They had very little success with any of Driscoll's associates.

"We can link them to the drugs, but we still have nothing that actually leads it back to Driscoll," Alex said, dragging her fingers through her hair in frustration. "Mullins gave us the name, but there's no way he'll ever repeat it in court."

"We keep pushing," said Gene.

"There's nothing to push - in fact, we're going to have to release some of them and I'm amazed Driscoll hasn't asked for a lawyer already."

"He won't. He'll wait until we have to give him one: he's not going to ask for anything," Gene said, drily.

Alex was impressed. "You realise that's psychology, Guv?"

"Bugger: I didn't realise it was contagious."

The office door slammed open to reveal Ray, with Chris and Shaz at his heels.

"Guv!" said Ray, urgently.

"What's up?"

"A little girl's gone missing." His expression was serious as he slapped a photograph down on the desk in front of them. "Emma Lockley. Eleven years old. Parents thought she was round at a friend's house. Alarm wasn't raised until her Mum called them to see if she was staying there for tea."

Alex picked up the photo. Emma's ears were poking through her long, sandy hair and one of her teeth was slightly chipped. She looked like the sort of child who hadn't wanted to sit still for a picture: she was leaning forwards and seemed about to slip off her chair and dash off to do something more interesting. It was a head-and-shoulders shot but Alex was sure her knees would be skinned and her socks would be halfway round her ankles. She closed her eyes. _Molly..._

"We spoke to the friend," Chris was saying. "Well, Shaz did." Despite - or because of - the gravity of the situation, he was clearly proud of her. "Sounds like they both used to play a game they called 'pass the parcel', running packages back and forth for a nice man who said he'd like their help. She couldn't give us Driscoll's name, but she ID'd him from a photo."

Shaz looked upset. "It was awful," she said. "He told them they were his little helpers and they were so clever they'd be able to help him with something very important. She was so scared they'd done something wrong and they were going to get him in trouble."

"It's sick," said Ray. "Manipulating kids like that; putting them in God knows what danger. We should get back out there. I reckon she's taken something round to someone and they've hung onto her for some reason. Maybe she didn't have enough drugs, or she'd been told not to give it to them unless they handed over money which they didn't have. Maybe they just lost their temper."

Gene stood up. "Get me a map," he ordered. "Local: Driscoll's own stomping grounds."

Chris rushed to oblige.

"Where are you going?" Alex asked as Gene snatched it with barely a glance.

"To slam Warren Driscoll's face up and down on the table. And you're coming with me."

"What? Guv, no!"

"Oh yes, D.I. Drake. And while I'm slamming, I want you to be keeping careful tabs on which way his weaselly little eyes are flickering as I bash his head into his precious little empire until he's wearing it like face paint."

He was halfway out of the room already. Alex raced after him.


	8. Chapter 8

"You're very quiet, Bolls…" Gene observed an hour later. He was driving, as usual, as though he had expected to be able to get from A to B in a straight line and was buggered if he was going to make allowances for any of the buildings which had been put in his way. For once, Alex just wished he would go faster.

"Voices in your head keeping you fully occupied, are they?"

She didn't answer.

Driscoll hadn't talked. He had just smirked, even as Gene pounded his nose into the map in front of him for a third time and blood began to run down his face. Transfixed, Alex had recognised that it was time for her to intervenebut as she opened her mouth to utter words of reproof and restraint she caught the infinitesimal sideways movement of Driscoll's eyes across the page now spattered with his own blood. His grin widened with the faintest trace of something which looked very much like pride...

Frozen, she let Gene grab Driscoll's hair for a fourth time and snap his forehead smartly down on the surface of the map, as though the suspect was an empty stapler and he was refusing to admit defeat.

"Guv," she said at last. "Forget it."

Gene looked up at her.

She held his gaze, waiting for him to read the unspoken message in her eyes.

They quit the room.

"The park," she said, once they were outside. "He glanced at it, and smiled. She might not be there now, but I think that's where he sent her."

Now they were racing towards the tiny run-down scrap of dirty green with its rusty swings and climbing frames. It might be an obvious haunt for unsavoury characters, but Alex was willing to bet that the local kids still dared each other to go there anyway. Where else did they have? But it was such a flimsy lead, and even if Emma had been sent there, there was no guarantee there would be any sign of her now. Alex's knuckles were white on the car door handle and every fibre of her being was willing Gene on; willing them not to be too late.

The photograph Ray had borrowed from the Lockleys was in Alex's pocket. "They call her 'Em,'" Shaz had said, face drawn and anxious. "We will find her, won't we, Ma'am?"

Alex had managed a tight smile but at first all she could think was: _She looks so much like Molly._ The shock was visceral, gut-wrenching, and it took a moment to convince herself that it was irrational; to shake off the feeling of panic which had convulsed her at the thought - the certainty - that her own child was in danger. Alone, afraid, needing her mum. For all she knew, Molly _could_ be in danger...

No. Never. Evan would take care of her.

Poor Evan. How she missed him. Would he recognise her any more? She knew he wouldn't understand some of the things she wanted to tell him. He would try, of course; that was part of what she loved about him, but he would struggle to comprehend what she could find to like in her new friends - these people racing against time, determined to save the life of a little girl. He would tell her she was tired, she was scared, it was completely understandable… but fundamentally, he would be waiting for her to come to her senses.

There was no time to worry about this now. They had work to do. A child was in danger. If she could find her, perhaps she could find her way back to Molly. Perhaps this was the last test.

_I'm coming for you, Molls... _she thought. _Don't worry: I'll find you..._

"Ma'am?" Shaz had repeated, concerned.

And then Alex had opened her eyes and remembered that she was looking at a picture of a different child entirely: someone else's little girl; someone else's everything. And Molly's face… suddenly she couldn't even remember what it looked like. There was only this other little girl with her long, straight hair carefully brushed by someone who loved her, and try as she might Alex couldn't recollect how the features differed from her own daughter's. The only image she could summon was that of little Em Lockley.

_I have to find her,_ she thought, fiercely. _I have to save her, and then Molly's face will come back to me. I'll see her, and I'll be able to remember…_

The car screeched to a halt and they all piled out. It was a bleak excuse for a children's play area, Alex thought: wire fences, scrubby plants and swings that creaked ominously in the breeze. There was the stink of public toilets and no sign of life anywhere.

"Ray, you check in there," Gene instructed. "Chris: trees. Drake, Granger: spread out. I want no stone unturned, understand?" He strode towards a pile of boxes that had apparently been dumped beneath the slide.

"Guv!" called Shaz, shakily. Then: "GUV!" They raced towards her. Shaz was standing beside the bins, looking down into the gap behind them.

There, white faced, gagged and shivering huddled Emma Lockley.

"Thank God…" breathed Alex, as Gene leaned down and gently pulled the child out. "Thank God."


	9. Chapter 9

Shaz and Alex took Emma home.

"Medically, she's absolutely fine: no real physical harm done," said Alex. "She went to meet the man where she'd been told, but he startled her by coming out of the bushes and she screamed. He panicked and clapped his hand over her mouth, which scared her even more, so he gagged her with a plastic bag, dumped her behind those bins and ran away. She says he kept saying he was sorry… She could probably have managed to climb out by herself, if she hadn't been scared stiff. She's far too traumatised to give evidence, though. And her friend - Sal? - isn't going to be any different. Their parents are terrified. We can get the rest of his gang, but we still don't have anything on Driscoll that will stand up in court."

"He knew where we'd find her," Ray pointed out.

"Perhaps, but he didn't actually tell us," Alex sighed. "And our method of getting it out of him was hardly orthodox. Any lawyer would rip it to shreds in seconds - probably say we were fitting him up." She could just picture Evan doing it, in fact; knew exactly what he would say to dismantle their case.

"Important thing is, we got a little girl home safe to her mum and dad," said Gene. "We don't have her attacker yet, but we will do if we can find a way to get to Driscoll. Emma Lockley shouldn't have been anywhere near that place after dark, and if it wasn't for that lowlife, she wouldn't have been… If we get him, the network will collapse. "

He looked around him.

"Go home. I want you in first thing tomorrow full of bright ideas."

Ray, Chris and Shaz reluctantly gathered their things and headed towards the door.

Alex hung back.

"Night boss…"

"Night, Ma'am."

"Night…"

She rose, uncertain for a minute whether she was going to follow them out or follow Gene into his office, watching the blinds sway slightly as the door closed behind Chris. Somehow the movement stirred a memory within Alex of the ripple of a little girl's long ponytail, and then suddenly...

_Molly… _

There she was, reflected in the darkened glass as though she was just outside the office, turning towards her mother with an artless grin and as real and vivid as though Alex could race out into the corridor after her. She took a step forwards...

Gene's door opened behind her.

"Hang on a minute, Bolls…"

And Molly vanished.

Alex closed her eyes and took a breath. The important thing was, her daughter's face had come back to her. She must never let it fade again.

She waited, not yet ready to turn around.

Gene continued regardless. "If he needs to know he's guiding folks to meet their maker... he'd want to see it."

She looked round at that, surprised, and considered for a moment. "Yes, I suppose so…"

"Well, no point pushing someone off this mortal coil if you have to wait to read about it in the papers like any other nobody."

She nodded. "He'd want to see the light leave their eyes…"

"Ever seen anyone who's died of an overdose, Bolly? It's not so much moving towards the light as sinking into the squalor. Anyone who wants to witness that is a sick, twisted bastard."

"We need to check his alibi for any deaths connected to him," Gene said, decisively. "His mum went a few years back; there've been various deaths connected with his day job… Most of them look natural, but I'll bet there's at least one where something was missed. My money's on old Ma Driscoll: he's exactly the sort of little scrote who'd do his own mother in thirty years later because she sent him to the naughty corner when he was a kid."

"You mean we need to do some research?" she asked, quirking an eyebrow.

"Don't gloat; it can't all be smashing down doors, worse luck…" he said.

"You know, you surprise me sometimes," she said, musingly. "Just when I'm sure I know exactly what you're going to say, I realise you're actually impossible to read."

"You're trying too hard," he informed her, brusquely. "I'm a picture book, Bolls. And you're one of them great long novels full of difficult words that no one wants to make a start on because it seems like such a slog." He looked at her appraisingly. "You're starting to look a bit dusty, in fact. Too long on the shelf." He scowled. "What's this face saying to you? Don't overthink it..."

She sighed. "It's saying that I'm looking for depth and meaning in completely the wrong place."

"Correct," he agreed.


	10. Chapter 10

"_Damn you, Gene Hunt…" _Alex thought, several hours later. It turned out that Gene's idea of research was very much based on the principle of delegation. Which was why she was now waking up on her sofa in last night's clothes, surrounded by files on other people's deaths. Reaching to catch the file she had fallen asleep reading as it slid off her stomach and onto the floor, Alex found herself rolling after it. "Shower…" she thought, blearily, struggling to her feet and stumbling towards it.

As the 1980s shower dribbled water over her in a way which seemed more likely to bore rather than blast away any lingering sleepiness, Alex realised she was humming to herself. Where had that come from? And what was it?

_La Boheme..._

Now what on earth had put that in her head? It was almost as though she had heard it in a dream… except that her dreams these days were always low-resolution eighties music videos, not opera…

Opera.

The files.

At at least four of the scenes of death, neighbours had reported hearing nothing suspicious.

Just some sort of classical music with singing...


	11. Chapter 11

"Guv!" Alex said, barging into his office.

Gene looked up, his face set to: "This had better be good."

"Opera," Alex announced.

It was clearly not what he had been hoping for. Alex was not surprised.

"Opera!" she repeated insistently but perhaps not very cogently. "Driscoll's alibi."

"If you're about to tell me he has some fat bird scream in their faces until their eardrums go pop…" Gene began.

"No!" Alex said, gesturing at him to be quiet and listen. "His alibi. On at least five occasions when someone connected with Driscoll died an apparently natural death, he said he was at the opera when it happened."

"Did it check out?"

"Yes. But then, the deaths didn't look suspicious, so no one pushed it further than that. But there's more. On at least four of these occasions, neighbours reported hearing music which could well have been opera coming from the house of the deceased. What if that was Driscoll's little joke? The climactic moment accompanied by an appropriately sweeping soundtrack. When he said he was _at the opera_… perhaps he was referring to his front row seat at the ultimate in human tragedy." She stopped suddenly.

"_Oh my God…"_

"What?"

"_Opera…"_

"If you say that one more bloody time…"

"It's Latin."

"Of course it is. I was under the impression it was a dead language, but fat chance of that with you giving it all this frantic CPR…"

"It was Greek last time… anyway, it means _'work'_," she continued impatiently. "As in 'work of art'... as in 'magnum opus...' It's his great achievement; his life's effort… his masterpiece."

"Wonderful. Well, everyone needs a hobby. I collect scumbags myself. Driscoll's now got imaginary gardening and crap music to keep him busy, and I'd bet my left bollock he's never had anything to do with either because he's been fully occupied committing acts of evil. Unfortunately, as we can't yet prove that, the long overdue lefty lawyer has marched in with his briefcase and poncey bits of paper and insisted that we let the sweet little murdering bastard out to play."

"What?"

"He's out, Drake," Gene said, bitterly. "Driscoll's out."

Alex was appalled. "When?" she demanded.

"While you were busy finding new ways to get on my nerves by forcing culture into crimes where it doesn't belong," he snapped.

"It's a _link…_" she insisted. "I know it is. And we'll prove it; we just need to get out there now and look harder."

"The alibis must have been checked at the time," said Gene. "Someone must have seen him at the opera."

"Or someone said they did…" Alex pointed out. "What if he does like opera? What if he has someone at the opera house who'd be prepared to swear they saw him whenever he needed them to? In an audience that size, no one would expect all the staff to remember every patron. If he could prove he had a ticket, it would only take one other person to corroborate his story and anyone investigating would have had to let it drop unless they had a real reason for suspicion - and he's been very careful to make sure they never had."

A thought struck her. "It's a bit of a stretch to think he could get tickets at the last minute if he needed them… or that he'd be able to time all the deaths to happen on days when he already had them. He's a control freak, but that would take a ridiculous amount of planning."

She could almost feel the pieces about to click into place.

"He must have a contact in the box office who could print him a ticket. Or someone who had tickets to all the shows already who'd be prepared to hand it over to him if he asked."

She looked at Gene.

"Drake…" he said, heavily. "Why do I get the horrible feeling this case is about to take a turn in a direction I'm really not going to like?"

She nodded, smiling. "I think we're going to have to go to the opera," she confirmed.


	12. Chapter 12

In the end, it was a combination of research and gut instinct. Alex requested the Opera House staffing rota and had Chris cross-check everyone who had been working the nights Driscoll had needed an alibi. That narrowed it down considerably. Then Gene took a quick look at the possibilities and honed in on the one who looked the most nervous.

Jamie Acres. He was young, and his nerves made him look even younger. He was the sort of boy she supposed would have been popular at school: delicate, unthreatening good looks coupled with a laddish swagger which had been quenched automatically the moment Gene glared at him. It was like watching a scabbed old alley cat sizing up a bright little bird, she thought, vaguely amused. Having assessed the boy, Gene had clearly decided to go with what was, for him, a relatively gentle approach. "Alright, sunshine: tell us what you know," he demanded, shoulders back and hands in pockets. The rest of the staff scattered.

Acres glanced about him slightly desperately, but there was no one to turn to.

Alex decided to take pity on him. "It's all right," she said. "Perhaps we should go somewhere a little more comfortable."

For a moment, she knew, he thought she meant the police station. "The bar here's quite lovely," she hastened to add. "But I think perhaps there's somewhere more private that might be more appropriate. Can you show us?"

With the expression of a child who has been let off immediate punishment but is sure a good long telling off is still imminent, Acres led them to an empty room where the staff presumably took their breaks.

"Ok," said Alex once they were seated. "You do know Warren Driscoll don't you, Jamie?"

He looked on the verge of tears as he nodded.

"Have you known him long?"

He shrugged. "Since I was about sixteen."

"So not that long then…" came the voice of DCI Hunt, his patience clearly running out already.

Alex ignored him.

"Jamie… no one's going to hurt you. You'll have to trust me when I say that my colleague always looks as though he's about to headbutt something: I can only assume his ancestors were in the pub and missed out on a few crucial stages in the process of evolution, but it's nothing personal. In fact, if Warren Driscoll tries to get anywhere near you then DCI Hunt will be the first to get in his way. Do you understand? We won't let anyone hurt you."  
The boy nodded.

"Now, please…" she went on, holding his gaze. "Tell us what you know."


	13. Chapter 13

"Poor kid…" Alex said as they drove back to the station. "Warren Driscoll popping in and out of his life like some hideous apparition to demand an alibi every time he needs one, making him so desperate to get away that he eventually does the one bloody stupid thing that's bound to put a noose around his neck and starts stealing from Driscoll in order to put by enough money to do a runner."

"Stupid is an understatement…" Gene observed.

"He was terrified!" she protested.

"He should be," Gene pointed out. "He knows that Driscoll wasn't where he says he was when four people connected with him conveniently died, and now he's gone and pissed him off. He knows it's only a matter of time before Driscoll decide it's his turn to disappear next."

"I know…" said Alex, brow creasing. "Driscoll probably loves that; knowing that he has Jamie on the edge of a nervous breakdown and just needs to give him the tiniest shove whenever he wants to get rid of him. He's not safe. We should take him into protective custody."

"After a spot of babysitting are you, Bolly?"

"We need to watch him. Driscoll's hardly likely to do anything to draw attention to himself within 24 hours of being released, but he's already got Jamie so wound up that he might crack at any moment. He's clearly expecting Driscoll to show up soon. Maybe we should go back to the Opera House tonight and see if he does."

Gene screeched to a halt outside Fenchurch East. "Fine. Dinner and a show it is."

Alex was startled. "You buying?"

"Only if I can pronounce everything on the menu."

"I don't really fancy fish and chips."

"Oh all right. Just pick somewhere that serves steak. And your hemline had better rise in line with the prices, understood?"

"Understood…" she repeated, although it wasn't entirely true.


	14. Chapter 14

She had made an effort. It had been something of a dilemma, if she was honest. Was it a date?

She'd expected him to get bored of harking back to her detailed observations on the prospect of them ever having sex eventually, but the suggestion of dinner had taken her by surprise. Did he think he was on some kind of a promise? It had been a mistake to be so unguarded with him: a loosening of the tongue easily attributable to half a bottle of chianti, of course, but she also had a terrible habit of talking to Gene as though she was simply thinking aloud. It was the exact opposite of speaking without thinking: it was thinking without the usual conversational filtering, and this was what it led to. Unreconstituted neanderthal that he was, he of all men was not the type to forget that she had basically sketched him a quick mental image of the two of them throwing caution, common sense and all inhibitions to the wind.

On the other hand, would any man - however modern - forget it in a hurry if you introduced the idea that you might be up for doing it against a wall?

And it wasn't as if the idea was entirely unappealing. The only reason for resisting it - if you ignored all the implications for them working together, of course - was simply that he'd be so insufferably smug about it afterwards. And possibly even during. She wouldn't put it past him.

There she was, again. Picturing it. Allowing the idea to be anything other than completely ridiculous and unthinkable. _Admit it, _she told herself, sternly but with something of a sigh. _It's officially… thinkable. Or rather, _**un**_officially. Keep this thought to yourself, Alex Drake._

Still, nothing wrong with wearing something nice. It was a nice restaurant, after all, and they were going to the opera. Besides, she didn't get the chance to wear a dress all that often. The waiter's solicitude confirmed what her mirror had already informed her earlier: she looked good. Basking in his appreciation, she asked him to bring her a glass of red wine while she waited.

And waited.

And then, as she laughingly brushed away the outrageous compliment which accompanied the offer of another glass, she caught sight of him. Gene. Standing looking in through the window. Her smile widened, but then froze and died. He was here for work. She rose, dropped a note onto the table without bothering to ask for the bill, and headed outside to meet him.

He did not waste time on apologies, of course, but turned on his heel at once and left her to catch up. "What's happened?" she asked, slightly out of breath.

"You had a call," he announced. "From Acres."  
"Is he ok?!"

"For now. He reckons Driscoll's on his way."


	15. Chapter 15

It was a false alarm. Alex was unsurprised; Acres was a nervous wreck and jumping at shadows. Turned out Driscoll had called him shortly after he rang the police station and said he was coming tomorrow instead. Jamie was sure Driscoll knew he had called Alex.

"How could he possibly?" she said, soothingly.

"He just _does…_" the boy insisted, distraught. "He always does…"

She laid a hand on his arm. "You must try to stay calm. We'll have someone with you at all times. If it really is tomorrow, then that means it could all be over as soon as that. I just need you to be brave a little while longer. Can you do that for me?"

He nodded, jerkily.

She smiled at him.

"Jamie if you're really sure that Warren Driscoll is going to try to make contact with you again, to threaten you, then we need to catch him at it. If you're prepared to wear a wire for us tomorrow then we could get everything we need to put him away for a long, long time."

She looked him dead in the eye. "What do you say?"

He met her gaze, his voice hoarse as he replied: "Ok. I'll do it."

"What's going on with you two?" Gene demanded after they had seen Acres into an unmarked police car taking him safely home at the end of his shift.

"He's scared… he's lonely. I know the feeling. I'm just being kind. And we need him to feel safe with us; he's the only lead we've got."

"Be careful, Bols."

She looked surprised.

"He's half in love with you already."

"Don't be ridiculous! What makes you say that?"

"I've got eyes. And I was seventeen myself, once."

"Might as well still be…" she muttered.

"Where you're concerned? Perhaps."

She wasn't sure she had heard him right, so she decided to sidestep it. "He's a kid, Gene."

"He's a kid who's in it up to his neck. They're like wild animals: dangerous when they're scared. And if it comes to a choice between you and him, he'll take you getting hurt as the price for saving his own skin. Don't kid yourself, Bolly: he's been helping Driscoll get away with murder."

"I wish I could kid myself… hideous reality is always looming up in front of me," she said, wrily.

"I won't take that personally," he retorted. "Just don't you go off on one of your mad crusades. We're this close, Drake -" he pivoted unexpectedly, thrusting two fingers held millimeters apart in front of her face. "_This close_. It's not the time for your sanity to go walkies, ok?"

"Thank you for your concern, but frankly the only thing straining my sanity is _you_," she said, testily.

She stepped out into the road impatiently, walking away from him as he opened his mouth to retort. And suddenly there were blinding headlights coming straight at her, and the screeching of tyres, and she was being dragged back out of harm's way as the car mounted the kerb and careened past them into the night.

Breathless and shocked, Alex gazed after it, straining to catch any part of the number plate. It took a moment to register that she was slumped forwards with the only thing holding her up Gene's arm tight across her stomach, pinning her own arms to her sides. Shaking her head and pulling herself together, she planted her feet properly and pulled away. He released her slowly and she turned to face him, the chilly air helping her to refocus as she gazed up at him. Still slightly unsteady, she reached out a hand to take hold of his arm for support.

Their eyes locked.

"Tenner says that wasn't an accident," he said, smugly.

Still panting slightly, she gathered enough energy to roll her eyes.


	16. Chapter 16

Luigi's was the inevitable next step.

"Fortifying drink, Bolls," Gene asserted.

"I'm fine," she insisted.

"Not you - me," he said, breaking off to yell, "Oi!" at Luigi. "I'm facing the prospect of three hours of non-stop, tone-deaf screaming tomorrow night. And before that, I've got to sit through the opera."

"You might be surprised," Alex pointed out, ignoring the innuendo. "Opera can be a powerfully moving experience."

"So can a vindaloo."

She winced. "Thank you, for that. God, is it too much to ask that I be allowed to bask in a bit of transcendent beauty for once without you stamping all over it in your sodding cowboy boots?"

Gene rocked back on his chair and stretched one leg out in front of him, slamming his heel down on the table. "That," he said, eyeing the crocodile skin complacently, "Is what I call beauty."

"Signor Hunt, please…" said Luigi, appearing with a glass of single malt and a bottle of red.

"Opera, Luigi," Alex turned to him, "I'm sure you appreciate it."

"Ah…" he agreed, eyes misty, "The truest representation of the passion in the human soul. It is the music of the angels."

"And here I was thinking the afterlife would be a chance for a bit of peace…" Gene grunted, finishing his drink and handing the glass back to be refilled. "If I have to watch a load of your lot overacting, I'd rather it was because you're two-nil down and they just can't help themselves."

Luigi tutted.

"Right," said Gene, "Get that down you, Bolls. We're going back to the station."


	17. Chapter 17

"There," he said, stabbing a leather-gloved forefinger at the security camera stills he had yanked from the filing cabinet and spread out over his desk. "_That_ is the car that nearly turned you into privately educated roadkill."

"OK," she said, straightening up. "You're right."

"That car…" he paused in mid-sentence, turning towards her with his finger still extended and now pointing ridiculously in the air. He lowered it. "You what?"

"You were right. That's Acres' car." She suppressed a smirk at the look of suspicion on his face: clearly he had expected her to put up more of a fight. "Law of averages; it had to happen some time," she observed. "Don't worry - it won't last."

Hands on hips, she continued to gaze at the pictures. "We have to stop him," she said, softly. "Driscoll. I don't know if it was actually Jamie driving, and whether he was trying to kill me or just to warn me off, but he's still just a scared kid. Him… the girls… the addicts… they're all just victims. So much fear and hopelessness... We need to stop Driscoll. Now."

"We will. That's what we do."

Gene's voice was utterly certain.

"That's what we do…" Alex echoed thoughtfully, nodding.

She could see them both reflected in the glass door: her own face very pale and his great hulking bulk looming behind her out of the shadows. She realised suddenly how close they were standing. If she leant back… she did it, watching as their reflections met: her head on his shoulder. If he was surprised, he didn't show it. His expression didn't change and his hands didn't leave his pockets. He remained, solid, unmoving, _unbreakable… _

She turned.

"What's all this then, Drakey?" he said. His tone was challenging, but not so brash that she felt she should back off.

Instead, she gripped both lapels firmly, tilting her head up to look into his face.

"Gene…"

For once, words didn't come to her aid. Whatever she felt now, she couldn't articulate it.

So she just kissed him.

He let her, neither responding nor pulling away at first. She was enveloped by the scent of him: whisky and cigarettes and some god-awful cologne that had actually grown on her through long-term exposure. As her hands drifted up to his neck and she continued to brush her lips against his, he finally took his hands from his pockets and she felt them slide down her spine and over the arse he'd once tried to mark with a date stamp, pulling her closer. She pressed against him, feeling herself tilting backwards and, half unexpectedly but also vaguely inevitably, felt herself bending back over the desk, her feet leaving the ground as her legs slid up and wrapped around him.

There was something almost dreamlike about it: the quiet, the dark, the feel of the desk beneath her and the weight of him above her. But it was already slipping away… she felt him pulling back, increasing the distance rather than closing it. He placed a heavy hand on her shoulder to force her away from him so he could look into her face.

"Drake, it has not escaped my notice that this is not the scenario that you so memorably outlined for me. What's going on here?"

"Please, Gene…"

"What do you want, Alex?"

"I want this…"

"What?"  
"You." She said, surprising herself but realising as she said it that it was true. "I want you."

"No."

"What..?" she was confused.

"You want to feel better. To feel _something_, even. Not interested. You want pain relief?" he opened his desk drawer, withdraw a bottle and dumped it down on his desk, "Try this."

Increasingly embarrassed, and pushing away another feeling which she was fairly sure was disappointment, Alex considered. He did have a point.

"Bolls, I can't have you ruining my posh bird fantasies," he continued, still showing his usual disregard for personal space and leaning in almost face-to-face with both hands on the desk either side of her. "You're not getting to play with my hockey stick unless you're going to be jolly about it. I want you shouting hoo-bloody-rah at the crucial moment and saving the self-loathing for the morning after at the earliest, ok?"

She smiled. Somehow, he had managed to cheer her up after all.

"Understood."

Leaning forwards herself, she rested one hand on his arm and reached up to brush her lips softly against his cheek. "You're a good man, Gene Hunt. If it ever does happen, don't feel obliged to make me regret it afterwards, will you?"

Gene grimaced.

"Can't ever seem to make you do anything you don't want to, Bolls. Or stop you doing anything you're determined to."


	18. Chapter 18

They assembled the whole team the next morning.

"Ok," said Alex. "Here's what we know. Jamie Acres is missing. He - or someone using his car - tried to run me over last night. Uniform went round first thing, found he'd vanished. All the signs point to it being his_ time_ - time for Driscoll to get rid of him, that is. He knows too much, and he's been helping himself to Driscoll's supply without permission so he can sell it on the side and eventually break free. It's still not clear to us whether Driscoll actually kills his victims, or if he manipulates them into doing it themselves. But it seems likely that we're about to find out. It's possible that Acres was driving last night, and that he was trying to prove his loyalty to Driscoll. It's also possible that it was a set-up: someone else driving his car, knowing that it would lead us back to him, trying to put Acres in a position where he feels there's no way out. "

Gene took over.

"Tonight," he announced. "Acres is expected at work. As he works at the Opera House, this is the one time that Driscoll can't use that as an alibi. If Acres is found dead at the Opera House, Driscoll either deviates from his usual pattern and claims he was elsewhere or he admits that he was at the scene of the crime and risks putting himself in the frame. And Acres is getting desperate. It won't surprise me at all if he flips and does something stupid, so if he does turn up then I want him treated as a suspect. We know he's been dealing - whatever his motivation may have been for doing it - and he may have tried to run DI Drake over; and although I've had that thought myself on more than one occasion, assaulting a police officer is a line that must only be crossed by another police officer."

"A more senior police officer," he added. "Although if anyone fancies their chances…"

There was a chorus of No's and a general shuffling of feet.

"Good!" he said, decisively, clapping his hands together. "Right, let's get on with it."

"A Team: stakeout at the Opera House…" he paused for a dramatic sneer of disgust, "Blending in and keeping an eye on everyone coming and going. Either Driscoll or Acres is going to show and we're going to nab them. We've had uniform on their houses since last night but no signs of any movement so far. I want both these bastards run to earth and then corralled in the general direction of my size nines, ok?"

There were murmurs of agreement.

"Show goes up at 7.30," Alex added, "So we have the rest of the day to get the details straight. Sub-teams, reporting to DS Carling: we need this watertight. Let's get it right."

The teams dispersed.

"Drake," Gene summoned her. Alex looked up.

"You clear on the plan?"  
She nodded.

"Any questions?"

She shook her head, slowly.

"Good. Now get yourself off."

She was puzzled. "But…"

"This," he waved a hand in her general direction. "Will not cut it. We said _blend in_, so in your case that means you need to paint on a face that doesn't look like it nearly got flattened and then spent a night marinating in chardonnay."

She opened her mouth to protest.

"Go." Gene ordered.

"I hate to be the one to say it," Alex began, "But of the two of us, isn't it rather you who might need a day to get in a fit state for a public appearance? Or two days? Or possibly a time machine?"

"You'll need to dress up," he said, ignoring her completely. "Smart. I know that'll be hard given how fond you are of dressing like a tart but try to embrace your natural class for once, would you?"

"Anything particular in mind?" Alex asked, bitingly.

"Well a bit more Lady Di and a bit less Lady of the Night would be a start," he bit back. "A nice frock that flashes tits and arse tastefully."

A thought struck him.

"And a bit of leg as well," he yelled at her departing back.

Ray gave a low whistle.

Alex stood in the doorway to CID. She was poured into - and spilling elegantly out of - a midnight blue velvet strapless dress. Soft, creamy cleavage rose above the tight heart-shaped bodice like the head on a perfect pint and a thigh-high split revealed most of one shapely leg, tapering down to killer heels which put her eye-to-eye with her boss. She had a large fur hanging from her exposed shoulders, and the expression of a woman who had known she would silence the room she had just walked into.

DCI Hunt did not look impressed. "DI Drake, I know I will regret asking this, but where is your gun?" he barked.

Alex smirked, "Present and correct, sir." She drew back her skirt to reveal the gun secured to one thigh by a holster. "And look: space for my lipstick as well."

Shaz laughed.

Gene did not.

"Guv, you might look a bit happier," Alex said, eyes glinting triumphantly. "I was given very specific instructions, and I followed them. Isn't that what you've been after for ages? I did as I was told!"

"Oh ma'am, you look like one of them Hollywood starlets," sighed Shaz, admiringly. "That one with the gloves."

"Rita Hayworth," Gene snapped, irritably. "Don't they teach you lot anything?"

"Teach us not to stare…" the WPC muttered pointedly, glaring at him as he watched Alex bending over her desk.

Chris, smirking, caught her eye and gave her a wink. Ray rolled his eyes.

"Right, am I the only one thinking about work?"

"That's because you're the only one with no other option," Shaz told him, smiling sweetly and patting him on the arm. "Guv, aren't you going to get changed?"

He turned on her. "YES. But I'll get to it in a minute because I am a bloke, and do not require three hours of prep work to get me out of the house."

"Nothing wrong with a man taking care of his appearance," said Chris, slightly self-consciously. "It shows self-respect."

"Thank you, Christopher," Gene barked, eyes bulging dangerously. "You go find a mirror and respect yourself in front of it to your heart's content. In your own time. For now, piss off and do something useful."

The blinds of Gene's office snapped shut viciously, accompanied by the sound of DCI Hunt yelling that he was: _"Not a bloody peep show... You want free entertainment of that kind: put in for a transfer to Vice or ask DI Drake if she's got any magazines she can lend you."_

This effectively silenced the office, until the voice came again: "GET BACK TO YOUR BLOODY WORK!"

Ten minutes later, the door flew open and the Guv was revealed, looking halfway between an avenging angel out for blood and a kid forced into his best clothes for church. He reminded Alex vaguely of a James Bond gone slightly to seed after years of having a bloody good time.

She looked him up and down, approvingly. "You know, it's a crying shame that men don't dress like that all the time."

"You'd never get any work done, Bolly," he retorted, hooking his thumbs into his belt loops.

She gave him a tiny catlike smile.

"Well, we'll soon find out, won't we? Time to put the plan into action…"


	19. Chapter 19

"Do you need a hand with the tie?" Alex asked once they were in the car.

"You may be desperate to get your hands on me, woman, but I'm not wearing a pretty little bow for anyone," he informed her. "Ridiculous item of clothing."

"I think they're rather dashing," she said.

"Yes, well: you're wearing more than enough ridiculous clothing yourself," he informed her, tartly. "Or not enough."

"I did as I was told," she repeated, with an air of supreme innocence.

"I think they call that observing the letter of the law rather than the spirit," he said, grimly. "The aim was to blend in, not to attract attention."

"Never satisfied…" she murmured.

"Not yet," he agreed. "But I have a wonderful feeling that the fat lady's about to start singing. I know you were hoping for end-of-the-disco, but we'll just have to make the best of it."

The team were all in place, and the opera house was filling up. Alex and Gene were posing as a couple - albeit one having a slightly stilted conversation - while scanning the foyer.

"Nothing on door 1," came Ray's voice over the radio.

"Nothing on door 2," Chris affirmed a minute afterwards.

"All right," said Gene. "It'll happen."

Alex caught hold of his arm: "There!"

"_Acres."_

As one, they hurried after him, cutting through the crowd as smoothly as possible without drawing attention to themselves. He had vanished round a corner which Alex recognised: "That's the corridor to the staff office."

They slid out of sight of the crowd gathering in the foyer, shoes making no noise on the thick carpet. There was no sign of Acres, but the door to the office was ajar. Gene tried to pull Alex behind him but she slipped in front, pressing herself against the wall, sliding her gun from its thigh holster and inching towards the crack at the edge of the door.

Guns raised, they burst into the room.

"Bugger," said Gene.

They glanced around, checking, but there was no where for Acres to hide.

"Hang on a minute…" said Alex, "There's a sort of cupboard back here… look."

They both stepped forwards. "It's not a cupboard…" she said, investigating more closely. "Or… there's another door at the back, but I can't open it. You try…"

Gene did, Alex stepping backwards out of his way as he yanked impatiently on the door handle.

And then suddenly someone shoved Alex from behind, tipping her off balance so that she stumbled into the cupboard after him.

"Drake, what the.."

But it was too late. The door slammed shut and they were trapped inside, plunged into complete darkness.

"Oh good," said Gene's voice, laced with heavy sarcasm. Alex didn't need to be able to see his face to know the expression that accompanied that tone.

"Where's the handle?" she demanded impatiently, hands reaching out towards the space where the door had been.

"_Well it's not there, woman!" _

She snatched her hands back as though scalded.

"Right," said Gene, after a moment. "Let's try again, shall we? You stay absolutely still and try not to give me either a hand job or a heart attack, and I will locate the door. Ok?"

She gave a curt nod, then realised he couldn't see it.

There followed a few moments of silence, broken only by the sounds of Gene's fingers scrabbling against the wall and his occasional grunts as he tried his weight against it. Alex waited.

"Found it," he announced at last.

"Well?"

"Well on the plus side, this is a knackered old door. On the minus side, we've been locked in."

"Great."

"Gimme a minute..."

She waited, impatiently, then burst out, "Guv, Acres could be in real danger! We need to get out of here."

"What do you think I'm trying to do? And hang about - who do you think locked us in? The bleeding Phantom of the bastard Opera?"

"Driscoll! He's obviously hunting Acres down; Acres is r_unning away_ from _him_!"

"Maybe. But people with nothing to hide, don't hide," Gene observed, succinctly, his voice strained as he concentrated on forcing the lock of the ancient wooden door with a credit card.

"Hold on a minute…" said Alex. "_The Phantom of the Opera…_"

"Don't you dare start this again, Drake…" Gene said, through gritted teeth.

"I'm thinking! I haven't seen it since I was a girl…"

"Seen it?! Drake, this is not the time for one of your funny turns - what do you mean: you're seeing ghosts?"

"No, no - the musical…"

"You what?"

"Oh God, never mind - I remember now: it was new when I went for my 13th birthday treat from Evan, it can't be out yet, it's still only a book… or was it a film as well? Anyway, it's not important: just _listen…_"

"Drake, I am listening, as always, while you talk absolute bloody gibberish…"

There was a sudden click, and he fell through the now open door.

"All right there, Guv?" said Chris Skelton, standing on the other side with Ray and wearing a look of mild surprise. "Ready to come out of the closet?"

"Chris, I will kill you…" Gene growled, getting to his feet. "But DI Drake here keeps giving me crossword puzzle clues instead of sensible suggestions that will help us get this job done, so I'm going to start with her."

She glared at him. "In 'The Phantom of the Opera'…" she began, slowly, "The Phantom lurks in the roof beams…"

Instinctively, they all looked up.

There was a trap door in the ceiling.

"Wait…" Alex continued, as the others instantly moved to grab the nearest chairs and climb up. "He uses a magical lasso."

"Ray, pass me that chair," ordered Gene. "Drake: spit it out, and don't say 'magic' again unless you want me to lose my temper."

"Fine: a lasso. At the climax of one song, he hangs a man on stage."

She forced herself in front of Gene, her face in his so he could not ignore her. "Strangling, Gene. It could look like suicide. If we don't catch him in the act, we'll never be able to prove it."

He looked at her. "Point taken. So we should probably get a move on, then."

Chris went first, pushing open the trapdoor and pulling himself up through the gap with reasonable ease and surprising agility.

"Ma'am," he said, turning to help Alex up after him. She removed her shoes and handed them automatically to Gene, who slipped one into each inside pocket of his jacket. The skirt was not designed for climbing, but Gene and Ray took a leg each - Gene notably on the side with the thigh high slit - and gave her a boost. They followed after, their greater bulk and absolute lack of grace reasonably compensated for by their upper body strength, and each emerged red-faced and out of breath to join Chris and Alex in what turned out to be a large ventilation shaft.

"I can't believe I'm saying this…" Alex said, embarrassed even though she was the only one who would see the silly side of this, "But keep your hand at the level of your eye."

"You what?"

"Keep your guns up! If he tries to throw a rope around your neck then he won't be able to pull it tight enough. Otherwise, you're done for."

"Wonderful. Alright, lads: you heard the lady. Don't get strangled. And don't you dare shoot me in the back if anyone tries to get a rope round your neck and it takes you by surprise. Now let's go."

They followed him, crawling through the vent on hands and knees until it gave out into a larger roof space.

"I can hear music…" Ray commented.

"And it's getting louder," Chris agreed.

"We're above the stage…" Alex whispered, fighting back a sinking feeling that she had hit upon the exact final twist in Driscoll's plan.


End file.
